Jealousy
by Fierceawakening
Summary: Rewards and Craving have been moved here; part 2, Expedient, is new. Megatron goes to Cybertron to reward Shockwave for a job well done; Starscream gets revenge by seducing Motormaster; Megatron gets revenge on Starscream. M for spark-sex, violence.
1. Rewards

It was a foolish, illogical thought, Shockwave knew. But watching Megatron step free from the space bridge, Shockwave couldn't help but be reminded that his leader was beautiful.

Although the dust of the organic planet dulled the usual shine of his silver plating, he positively gleamed compared to anything left on the blasted husk of Cybertron. Compared to anyone else here, he looked pristine as a god.

That was also a highly illogical thought. Refusing to allow it to interfere with his flawless delivery of the required ritual greeting, Shockwave chided himself wordlessly.

Megatron, for his part, must have noticed nothing amiss in Shockwave's greeting. He simply nodded in acknowledgment.

"So," he said, "I hear that things go well here lately."

Shockwave nodded back. That was not the real reason Megatron was here. But then, not too long ago Shockwave had waited for thousands of vorns to hear from Megatron at all. He could afford to stand on formality now.

"Thanks to the energon shipments that you have managed to send, my lord, yes. Most of the population is still experiencing an acute energy crisis, but thanks to those shipments, the other guardians and I now function at near-normal levels."

"Good."

Megatron stepped closer. Shockwave could hear the faint whir of the tyrant's fans. His own fans kicked on in answer, and his spark whirled faster in his chest.

That didn't bother Shockwave as much. That had been going on for as long as he could remember. He was, however, glad that he lacked facial features. It simply would not do to be too obvious.

The corner of Megatron's mouth quirked into a smile. "But I hear you have more interesting news for me than that, Shockwave."

Shockwave's single optic shone. "Yes, my lord. After many vorns of pursuit, I have finally captured one of the Autobots who keeps raiding our energon stores."

Megatron nodded, his grin spreading. "So I've heard. Take me to her."

Shockwave's engines rumbled in excitement he could barely conceal.

###

"Hey, Decepticreeps!"

Shockwave had long ago gotten used to Chromia's insults. Cursing him was all the Autobot could do. Not wanting to take any chances with his prize, Shockwave not only kept her bound her with stasis cuffs, but also kept her under an inhibitor field. The field ensured that her energy levels remained low even if her systems were well-fueled.

She had apparently decided that since her voice was the only weapon left to her, she should never miss a chance to use it.

And today Megatron himself had come to look her over. Seeing him, she only got louder.

"Well, if it isn't the worst of the mechano-rats himself. Hey! Megatron! You come all the way back here just to try to frighten little old me?"

Megatron smirked at her, actually breaking into a laugh.

Shockwave didn't waste too much time guessing at that. Megatron did, after all, have Starscream with him on Earth. Everything Chromia could come up with, Megatron had probably heard twice.

"You're already frightened, Autobot, whether I've tried to do so or not," he answered, turning away.

Chromia huffed, surprised, and was silent a moment before launching into a new barrage of insults.

Megatron ignored them. Shockwave followed suit. This Autobot's noise, offensive though it was, was apparently meaningless to Megatron. And if it was meaningless to Megatron, it was meaningless to Shockwave as well.

Still smirking, the Decepticon leader walked over to the far wall. The standard implements of binding and torture hung there, and Shockwave briefly wondered if Megatron was planning on interrogating the prisoner. Or on demonstrating his power for no other reason than that he could.

But Megatron ignored the stasis cuffs, electrowhips, and shocksticks, saving his attention for something entirely different.

That something was the prisoner's weapon, which Shockwave had hung here for further study. It was clearly not an Autobot weapon, and Shockwave was not finished analyzing exactly how Chromia had managed to successfully convert a weapon designed to integrate directly into a Cybertronian's systems into a handheld blaster.

An Autobot would, Shockwave supposed, find such a weapon impressive. At least if that Autobot were as bellicose as this particular specimen happened to be. Autobots did not have internal weapons systems and were forced to carry theirs around with them.

That was an inefficient system, as far as Shockwave was concerned. Those whose weapons were part of their own frames never had to worry about recharging or misplacing them. Integrated weapons were fed by the same fuel their wielders themselves were. Weapon and wielder were indivisible, inseparable without major alterations to the basic structure of either or both.

But Autobots had not been built for war.

Shockwave stared at Megatron again, his optic resting on the cannon that adorned his leader's arm, a shiver running up his backstruts as he watched Megatron lift Chromia's blaster from its mount on the wall.

"This is well-made," Megatron said slowly, still smiling. Chromia cursed him.

"I wonder where you could have found it," he continued, pointedly ignoring her outburst and running his hands along the metal.

Shockwave shivered again, understanding full well what Megatron was doing. It didn't take a researcher to know where a laser like that must have come from. Not when its handle and power cells had been so crudely welded on.

"You want to know where that came from, Bucket Head?" Chromia snarled, unimpressed. "That mean you're as dumb as you look, or are you just asking which of your thugs I tore it off of?"

Megatron chuckled, aimed it at the wall near the cell, and fired. A bright beam lit the room, melting a wide hole in the metal there.

The beam was orange, the traditional Autobot color. But Shockwave's databanks had vast catalogues of information about Autobot weapons and the precise chemistry of the energy they used and output, and it was obvious to him that the color of the beam was not exactly the proper Autobot shade.

The weapon was also too powerful.

_Much too powerful_, Shockwave reflected, watching smoke rise from the crater it had melted in the wall. Standard-issue Decepticon lasers couldn't do _that_.

Chromia growled, apparently out of maledictions. Megatron ran his hands along the surface of the weapon as he hung it in its place again, his touch almost a caress. Shockwave felt his own gun-arm flicker with energy and his spark pulse hard in his chest. His cooling fans roared.

He himself could transform into a gun, just as Megatron could. But while Megatron was capable of size-shifting, compressing his mass until he could fit into another Decepticon's hands, Shockwave could not. He could only float in the air and fire upon his enemies.

Neither for the first nor for the last time, he found himself wishing his systems had been built to allow him to shift his mass. If they had been, Megatron could have held _him _as he'd held the prisoner's stolen weapon, could have charged _him _in accordance with his will, could have fired _him _-

His weapons systems crackled with energy, the seams on his arm glowing brightly.

Megatron laughed. Shockwave froze, his processors reeling. Had he given away too much? After all, Megatron had always preferred Starscream anyway -

Chromia laughed too, interrupting his thoughts. "Well, well, well. Deceptigoon courtship rituals? Never thought I'd see those up close."

Megatron growled, his chassis rumbling. "Shockwave."

Shockwave stood straighter, the finials on the top of his head twitching. "My lord."

"Silence that Autobot. Her remarks are becoming irritating."

Venting a sigh of intense relief, Shockwave walked over to the wall of implements and selected a small laser scalpel. Then, walking back over to Chromia's cell, he gave the command to deactivate the energon bars and walked inside.

Chromia lunged. Or tried to. Her inhibited systems could barely control her movement and she slipped, landing in a distinctly undignified heap at Shockwave's feet. It didn't stop her from hissing at him, or keep her optics from shining such a bright, angry blue that Shockwave was forced to narrow his own optic lest he be blinded by their light.

He pressed his gun to her head, less to threaten and more to clear his own way to her vocalizer. She thrashed, but he didn't mind. If her actions impaired his accuracy with the scalpel and brought her unnecessary damage or pain, the Autobot would only have herself to blame for it.

But once he touched the blade to the cabling in the prisoner's neck, seeking the delicate part that controlled her vocalizer, she stilled anyway, her frame humming with angry energy.

Shockwave could hear Megatron's smile. "Oh, and disconnect her optical and audio inputs as well."

It required all of Shockwave's efforts not to tremble in response. But he managed it, and began the first cut. Efficient. Clean. Proper.

The Autobot snarled through the pain, her voice fuzzed with staticky bursts. "Oh, you mean I don't get to w -"

With a sudden screech of feedback, her voice died.

###

Her audio and visual inputs had been trickier to get to with one hand. Fortunately, she was weak from pain and the energy-drain meant that her ill-fated attack had left her all but spent anyway. He'd had to lay the scalpel down - carefully, far out of Chromia's reach - several times. Then he'd carefully tilted her head and taken the knife back up again, severing the lines of circuitry feeding into each of her optics and each of her audio receptors.

Megatron's presence behind him had been - he had to admit it - distracting. He'd feel his Leader's optics on him. And on the prisoner, staring as her faceplates twisted in eerily soundless pain.

He had slipped. Barely, but more than once. Chromia's energon still glowed pink against his hand and wrist, and smeared his gun where he'd used his other arm to steady her.

It was, frankly, unacceptable. But Megatron had come all this way to see him, and he would not bother his lord with confessions of his own shortcomings. Finials twitching, he walked out of the cell and gave the command to reactivate the bars. Then he returned the energon scalpel to its place on the wall, trying not to feel too perturbed by the fact that he hadn't cleaned it first.

He had only enough time to hear the footfalls behind him, heavy and reverberating and impossibly strong, before he felt his lord's hand on his back and froze, his systems stalling.

"Very good," Megatron rasped, his other hand sliding to cup the guardian's head.

Shockwave's spark lurched in a mixture of desire and dismay. Not having a face, he could not tilt his head to press a reverent kiss to his lord's fingers.

It was not the first time he had wanted to do this. He expected that it would not be the last.

Hoping that Megatron would not mistake his gesture for greed, he pressed the side of his head into his Leader's hand.

"Turn around and kneel, here," Megatron said, pulling his hand away. Processor spinning, Shockwave struggled to properly parse the words. Then he turned, falling - _too heavily! too loudly! _- to his knees in front of his lord.

"You have done well, Shockwave," Megatron said, his optics gleaming, their scarlet light filling Shockwave's vision. "These Autobot thieves eluded us for vorns, and now -" He tilted his head toward Chromia's cell, his smile widening.

Shockwave could feel his chest plates straining to open, his overheated spark searing its housing in his chest.

Then Megatron reached out to touch Shockwave's chest, and it was all he could do to keep them closed. They thudded loudly as he forced them shut.

"Thank you, my lord," Shockwave responded, pleased that he'd remembered, long ago, to program himself to respond automatically with the proper answer. Feeling Megatron's hand trace the seam between his chest plates, he was not at all certain he could have come up with any answer that he hadn't programmed into himself.

"It is not every day that one of my army distinguishes himself so well," Megatron continued.

Shockwave stared, resetting his optic. That line of light in the seam of Megatron's chest - surely he must have imagined it. His lord would never open this way, not for him -

- but when his optical sensors reset, he could still see it, a hairline crack between Megatron's chest plates and red light in the tiny breach, the bright, fierce crimson of his leader's spark. He vented a quaking sigh, forcing himself to focus.

"Clearly, you deserve a reward," Megatron was saying now, and Shockwave froze, not daring to imagine what sort of thing his Leader had in mind.

"Open," Megatron said, giving Shockwave's chest plates one last caress before moving his hand away.

Shockwave's chest plates flew apart with a ringing clang. He was not aware of willing them to do so. He was not aware of anything - or, at least, he did not trust himself to be. Logic dictated that this could not be happening.

And yet, somehow, it was, his Lord's chest plates sliding apart to reveal his spark itself, wheeling with energy. Shockwave's analysis - hasty, error-prone, foolish in the first place anyway - indicated it must be nearly as overfull as Shockwave's own spark was.

He was torn between moaning in awe and reminding himself that this was clearly impossible when the first bolt of energy hit him.

He rocked backwards, as his vision flared red and lightning, relentless and searing, tore through his systems. His spark pulsed hard, struggling to receive the energy that Megatron was, even now, pumping into it.

_My lord - please -! _he thought, knowing Megatron could sense his emotions and perhaps even his thoughts through the connection.

There was a moment of stillness. Then, a flood, heat and light roaring through him as Megatron hurled another bolt of energy into his frame.

His circuits sizzled as if they would melt inside his very frame as the energy tore through him, relentless.

He cried out, a sharp metallic scream. He was no Starscream, impetuous and greedy, built to take the best his enemies or his commander could throw at him.

Like all Decepticons, he was built for war. But his primary function was that of guardian, and before that it had been scientist. He was an analyzer, a processor of data, and as pleasant as this was, it was not for him, he was not made for it, he could not endure -

Megatron roared, grabbing at Shockwave's head and wrenching it so hard that Shockwave felt cabling at his neck tauten and snap, flooding his neck with warm, fresh energon.

_Look._

The word reverberated through his entire processor, stirring in every corner of his mind. Obediently, he widened his optic and stared, wondering what on Cybertron or Earth or anywhere could be as important as the sight of Megatron's own spark.

Then he saw it: Chromia's inert frame, huddled over itself, so low on energy it might as well have been in stasis or deactivated entirely, a glowing smear of pink staining its neck. Its dead optics, a deep black-blue without their usual light. Its audio receptors, leaking matching lines of energon, monstrous and precise.

_You did this, _Megatron thought - and Shockwave thought, the words echoing over and over, two voices in concert, chasing themselves through his mind.

And on their heels, a fierce and terrible pride that sent all his systems roaring to life.

He was worthy of this.

He cried out again, another tinny wail, Megatron's hand still twisting his head and lancing agony through his circuits.

Every part of him flared red then, the last of Megatron's energy tearing its way into his spark and bringing every part of his sensory array to life, burning away his doubt, his fear, his desperate attempts to make sense of all that was happening.

There was only this flame, purifying him, bending him to his lord's will and making him worthy of his lord's pride.

He surrendered to it, his optic irising impossibly wide, the scarlet light filling his vision as both sparks' combined heat consumed him.


	2. Expedient

**Part 2: Expedient**

Starscream was bored.

He twitched his wings in agitation. Not only was he bored, but there were few ways to ease his boredom right now. Megatron was off on Cybertron, having taken the space bridge to visit Shockwave. Something about Shockwave capturing one of those Autobots that kept raiding the energon stores.

And of course, since the ugly purple fool had finally done something right for once, it meant Megatron had to drop everything and vanish off to Cybertron to give his faithful little guardian a few pats on the helm.

Or more, considering how long the Decepticons' illustrious leader had been gone by now. Starscream's lip plates curled in intense distaste.

He was at a loss for how to amuse himself. Skywarp and Thundercracker were enjoying some much-needed time off. Although he could technically barge in and order them to entertain him, Thundercracker had been moody this week, and Starscream knew from long experience that his brooding would ruin any pleasure he might otherwise derive from their attentions.

And he'd already spent the prior half of the evening tormenting the rest of the Nemesis, frightening the peons with sudden, unexpected orders and irritating the elite nitpicking on purpose. Even that had quickly grown dull without Megatron to catch him at it and make an example of him.

His wings twitched again, thinking of Megatron's broad hands on him, grabbing and pulling and twisting. He squirmed, running his own hands over his cockpit and chest, sliding his fingertips over transformation seams.

_Stupid slagger, _he thought, snarling. _Off fawning over some ugly little fool with less personality than a drone when you could be here, with me -_

He dug his fingertips into a seam, hard as he dared, his turbines whirling in response to the spike of pain that lanced through his systems.

But it was no use. His own fingers were small and delicate, his plating light. He could never mimic the _heaviness _of his lord, the sheer bulk of a large grounder mech whose plating was thicker than his in the first place and reinforced on top of that, formidable, untouchable, indestructible.

He wanted more, wanted to be shoved to his knees and wrenched and dented and taken, and that wasn't anything he could do to himself.

_What does he see in that worthless, insipid - ?_

Hearing footsteps, the deep ringing tread of one of the largest Decepticons, he pressed his back hard against the wall and lowered his hands. No one would respect his authority if they saw him doing things to himself right in the middle of the hall, least of all one of the - big mechs -

His dark faceplates shifted into a grin as the other turned the corner and walked toward him, the broad gray chest filling his vision, the thudding footfalls making the floor vibrate beneath their feet. Starscream could barely see the enormous feet, wreathed as they were with smoke from twin pipes on the big mech's ankles.

_This could be promising._

"Why, hello there, Motormaster," Starscream called, twitching his wings invitingly.

The other turned, his optics narrowing. "What d'you want, Seeker?"

Starscream hissed. He might have known. Motormaster's team had been built by Megatron himself, created from human-made cars. Motormaster himself had been made from a truck, which meant he had the same vehicle mode as the leader of the Decepticons' enemies.

A fact that everyone else never tired of reminding him about. And that put him and the Stunticons he led at odds with everyone else.

Especially with Decepticons who had wings.

Starscream twisted his faceplates back into a mask of calm. "Now, now. Is that any way to address your superior?"

The big Decepticon's engines revved, setting Starscream's spark whirling in its housing. His silver fist clenched, glinting under the overhead lights. "You got somethin' for me to do, you just tell me."

"I just might have something," Starscream purred, his engines revving as he licked his lips.

Motormaster, for his part, gave Starscream a blank look, half-disgusted and half-confused. Then he growled. "Tell me what's going through your processor, Seeker, before I decide I don't give a damn about your rank."

Starscream snorted. Apparently subtlety was lost on this mech, newly-built as he was. Irritating... but that, too, could be fun, considering the itch for pain that Starscream was feeling.

"Oh, nothing. At least, not anything that a dirt-kisser can do for me. I need someone who can fly." He smiled sweetly.

"Why, you arrogant little glitch!" Motormaster's engines roared again, the noise rattling Starscream's audio receptors. "You wouldn't talk to me like that if Megatron were here."

Starscream laughed and twitched his wings. "Oh, but Megatron isn't here. Too bad. I know how much you admire our leader."

Motormaster's fists clenched. He raised them in obvious threat. "You say that like it's an insult."

Starscream giggled. "Of course not." He clicked his wings again. "Megatron is strong - powerful - commanding -"

He pressed his hands into the wall behind him, forcing himself out of his reverie. "But it's really too bad the only thing you've learned from him is how to stand around looking imposing and accomplish absolutely nothing worthwhile."

The blow slammed into Starscream's sensitive wing, driving it into the wall. The shock of it rattled his frame, and pain exploded through his sensor net, as though his wing had suddenly caught flame.

"You think you're better than me just because you've got wings?" the Stunticon growled. "I could rip you apart right here and be done before anyone even knew I was gone."

Starscream only gasped, writhing, even as his spark pulsed hard, already softening the pain to a sweet burn. Megatron had hit him there before, and he'd certainly hit that hard.

But Megatron was slow, careful, deliberate. He wouldn't hit like that from the beginning - or if he did, he'd have a reason. A lesson he hoped to impart by startling Starscream into paying close attention. Motormaster didn't seem to have any such subtlety.

Starscream shivered in anticipation. "You think_ you're _better than me because you're strong."

"Maybe I do. Maybe I think Seekers ain't all they're cracked up to be. Maybe I think you love the air so much because you're all worthless cowards and you're too afraid to fight real mechs." The Stunticon grinned. "What are you gonna do about it?"

Starscream frowned. There was no way he was going to back down now. Motormaster was an overgrown idiot, not a warrior whose physical prowess demanded respect.

Besides, the little pinpricks of sensation lancing through his injured wing were starting to feel good, as much as the dent Motormaster had left in it hurt. His other wing felt dull and blank in comparison. It wouldn't do to talk his way out of this one just yet, not when his other wing didn't even match it.

He shook his head to clear his processor and grinned again. "You are very strong, yes. But I doubt that makes up for the unfortunate things about your build."

Motormaster's hands, still held in tight fists, trembled with rage. "You got more scrap to talk about me, even after that? You must be glitched."

_That's the prevailing theory. If you believe the endless gossip on this ship, _Starscream thought, his optics flaring with amusement.

"I'm not trying to insult you," he protested, twisting his faceplates into a mock-earnest expression. "I'm only expressing my condolences to you. It must be so unfortunate to have to go through your entire life on the ground, just like an Autobot -"

Anything else Starscream might have intended to say was cut short as Motormaster's other hand drove hard into Starscream's other wing. For a moment, the Seeker was aware of nothing but the pain, buckling the plating of his wing and filling his sensornet with a thousand pinpricks of agony. Under the growl of Motormaster's engines, he heard the whirr of turbines spinning and realized a moment later that they were his own.

"Motormaster -" he panted, feeling the weight of the other's huge hands, grabbing and tearing at his wings. His spark wheeled hard in his chest, crackling in something between panic and desire.

Pure sensation ripped through Starscream's circuitry, agony blasting him clean of any emotion. He forgot boredom, forgot Megatron, forgot Shockwave, forgot the tank-roiling disgust he felt thinking Megatron touching him. The only thing remaining in his awareness was _this, here, now, _a bracing clarity, a welcoming oblivion, as those fingers grabbed and twisted at his every fear. His thoughts caved in, unable to resist the assault, just as the thin metal of his wings did.

He cried out, a wordless, high-pitched syllable, a howl of dismay and need.

Motormaster stopped.

The Stunticon looked him over, mouthplates twisted into a nasty snarl. Hot air, choked with pollutants, blasted from his vents.

Ordinarily, Starscream would have been disgusted. But that gleam of pure rage in his attacker's optics only fueled the growing heat in his spark.

"Not - bad -" he wheezed, "for - someone who looks like -"

Motormaster froze. "Say it and I kill you," he rumbled. "Slowly."

Starscream's optics flared as his lip plates curled into a dark smile. He'd tempted fate thousands of times before with Megatron. If there was one thing he'd learned from it, it was that he could walk away from anything.

Then again, this was Motormaster, not Megatron. And yes, Starscream could feel the heat radiating from the Stunticon's frame, including from the thick chest plates that protected the big mech's spark. And yes, all of that told Starscream without a doubt that his attacker was enjoying the hell out of this.

But that might not imply that Motormaster wanted what Starscream wanted out of it. Not when Motormaster had apparently missed Starscream's flirtations. Not when it made perfect sense to think he just wanted to rip the Seeker apart.

Megatron would never kill him. Motormaster might try.

Starscream was the fastest of all the Seekers, easily capable of outpacing a big, heavy truck in whatever form it took. But right now he was backed into a wall, his wings dented and twisted and torn. He'd never even manage to take off, and if he did, his damaged wings ensured that he wouldn't stay in the air anyway.

He was at the big Stunticon's mercy now. And he'd never seen any indication that Motormaster had any.

But if he did give in, everyone on the Nemesis would find out about it. Motormaster had no reason not to brag, and even if he chose not to, he was part of a combiner team. The Stunticons' systems were intimately connected; they had to be to enable their very frames to unite and form one enormous, hulking robot who moved to their united will.

Or their half-united will, anyway. Menasor was notoriously unstable, probably because the other Stunticons feared their young leader.

But whether they liked one another or not, they were still a combiner team. They uploaded and downloaded sensations, impressions, and snatches of memories to and from one another without even thinking about it. They wouldn't know exactly what happened here unless Motormaster told them directly, no, but they would know that something had. And something was enough for Dead End or Drag Strip to mock, for Breakdown to fear, for Wildrider to cackle madly about. He'd never live it down.

"I was saying -" he panted, his spark pulsing with dread and anticipation, "that you look like - Optimus Prime -"

He grinned, half-crazed, a wild laugh bubbling up from his vocalizer, his spark crackling with the mirth of those who freely chose to gamble with their lives.

Motormaster's whole frame rumbled. Starscream was never sure whether he actually heard the Stunticon growl in anger or whether his audios just vibrated with the rage pouring forth from his assailant, shaking everything around him.

Then a silver fist collided with his cockpit, shattering the glass there, and he felt his awareness splinter with it, cracking into a thousand shards, all of them singing with sensation. The pain raced through his spark, relentless, irresistible, undeniable, and he panted hard, pressing his chest into his attacker's hand.

If Motormaster noticed, he gave no sign. Starscream could feel the heat of the Stunticon's plating, the electrical tang of the forcefield surrounding it... the burn of the spark beneath as it pulsed with rage.

He wrapped his arms around Motormaster, only barely remembering to dig hard into anything he could find and at least put up a pretense of defending himself. He could feel the forcefield, an almost magnetic repulsion pushing back against his hands. He shrieked, half in pain and half in defiance, pressing harder, finally feeling the other's heavy plating against his hands.

Motormaster growled, almost as if he were enjoying Starscream's touch. Then his great hands twisted the frame of Starscream's cockpit and tossed it aside.

Agony blanked the Seeker's vision, filling his optics with static. His spark pulsed wildly, impossibly eager. It reminded the Seeker so much of Megatron that he sighed in some twisted contentment.

Motormaster had been silent all this time, but now he mumbled, snarling a steady stream of invective as his enormous hands reached to pull Starscream's chest plates apart.

_Yes, _Starscream thought, feeling the fingers bite deep into the metal as they grabbed at it. It buckled under Motormaster's hands.

Starscream's spark pulsed hard and he clutched tightly at Motormaster, pushing through the force field's repulsion and pressing the Stunticon into him.

It was easy, right now, to forget everything else. Megatron would rip him open, just like this, but he would expect something from Starscream as he did it. Starscream would beg, cajole, plead, confess his wrongdoing, swear his loyalty, vow that Megatron had always been and would ever be his lord.

This wasn't like that. This wasn't a game of submission or allegiance. This was simply power, tons of it, raw and pure and all-consuming, wrenching him and warping him, every circuit in his frame on fire with the things it did to him. He felt his chest plates finally wrenched apart and his spark flared, tasting its freedom.

Motormaster opened his hand. "Gonna tear your spark out right now and crush it in my fist," he roared as the metal began to part, the crimson light of his victim's half-exposed spark dancing over his faceplates.

_He's going to do it, _Starscream thought, and for a brief moment his spark whirled in mad eagerness, wondering what it would feel like for those impossibly strong fingers to tighten around it, inexorable and irresistible.

_He means it, _Starscream reminded himself, his spark finally remembering to freeze in fear.

Starscream did the only thing he could. He laughed, high and wild, and forced his torn chest plates apart, fully exposing his spark to his assailant.

Motormaster stopped, stunned, and stared at him. "The slag are you doing?" he growled.

Starscream smirked. He parted his lips, optics gleaming in an expression of hunger he doubted even this huge fool could miss. Then, just in case even that was too subtle for the Stunticon, he licked his lips.

"What the hell?" Motormaster's engine stalled in confusion.

Starscream didn't answer. Struggling against the forcefield, he traced his hand over Motormaster's shoulder and pressed it against the Stunticon's broad chest.

The Stunticon stared, his optics irising wider than Starscream would ever have thought possible. He almost laughed again; Motormaster looked far less imposing than usual with his optics as wide as they could go.

Then, with a loud clicking of gears, Motormaster's faceplates shifted into a broad and vicious smile.

"Well now," he chuckled, "looks like someone wants to play."

Now that Motormaster understood what Starscream wanted, he wasted no time. His chest plates thudded apart so suddenly and so forcefully Starscream barely managed to get his fingers out of the way.

Motormaster's spark was perfectly in proportion to the rest of him - which meant it was huge, huge and diffuse and pulsing steadily with energy. Apparently, even though he hadn't realized Starscream was looking for an interface, beating him had made the Stunticon more than ready for one anyway. Starscream grinned eagerly, savoring the anticipation -

- and shook from his helm to his thrusters when the first bolt of energy hit him, sooner than he ever would have expected it, speeding into the Seeker's smaller spark so hard and fast that Starscream could barely hold it.

With it came Motormaster's emotions: half hunger for completion, half the same hunger to destroy that had no doubt fueled him before. It sang through Starscream's systems, simple in its violence, perfect in its brutality. It asked nothing of him, no loyalty, no obedience. It demanded no vow of surrender, no promise of submission.

It wanted only for him to break.

And he did, feeling a new bolt of energy spear him, his whole frame twitching and shaking and completely beyond his control. He felt it, felt it all, just as he'd felt the Stunticon's hands on him before, rending and tearing and pulling him apart.

He clutched Motormaster tighter, knowing that the other could feel him as well: his need, his desperation, his willingness. The desire that fueled him, in this, as in everything else. The endless want that made him dare anything, risk anything, for the force he craved and the passion behind it.

Every part of Motormaster answered.

Even before the last blast of energy ripped through him, Starscream felt it coming. He felt the air, choked and heavy, blasting at him from Motormaster's vents, the polluted smoke ringing their feet, the electricity of the force field as their bodies pressed together.

It was awful and too intimate and more than Motormaster could ever deserve, and so perverse that Starscream only wanted more.

Then he got it, one last flare of searing heat, piercing his spark and tearing through his every circuit, illuminating and searing every part of him until he cried out in torment and gratitude, his frame shaking again as the overload built up in his systems and the combined energy finally burst from him in a ring of bright flame.

He heard Motormaster bellow as the energy burst through him as well, felt the echoes of the big mech's overload, rumbling aftershocks that set his already sensitized systems burning all over again. He twitched, unable to control his frame, again and again, until everything flared white and he knew nothing more.

He onlined again to movement, a powerful, thudding rocking. He felt something beneath him, holding him up, and looked up through static-fuzzed optics to see dark metal and a pale purple face above it.

Motormaster was carrying him. Into the medbay, he was sure, recognizing the doors opening in front of him and the cold lights in the room as Motormaster stepped inside.

Starscream grinned. So the mech who had just nearly killed him was taking care of him now? It was all entirely too amusing. Then again, there wasn't much else the Stunticon could do. He'd have his precious Megatron to answer to if it ever got out that he'd harmed Starscream, much less that he'd merged sparks with him.

Starscream looked up to see one of the Constructicons looking at him, his optics flickering in irritated surprise. "What exactly happened to him?"

Motormaster grunted, his vents expelling their polluted air. The Seeker frowned as the vile stuff entered his own intakes. He was injured, after all.

Motormaster gave no answer. He walked over to an empty berth and opened his arms, dumping Starscream unceremoniously onto it.

"Hey!" Starscream shrieked, the impact reverberating through his every damaged system. "Watch it, you overgrown fool!"

But Motormaster had already turned away, his mammoth black frame already walking back toward the medbay doors.


	3. Craving

**Part 3: Craving  
><strong>

"Well, Megatron, I'm here," Starscream announced, flicking his wings in annoyance as he crossed the room. His leader had some nerve, taking the space bridge to Cybertron for more than a day. As if his army could wait for him to prattle about nothing with Shockwave, when he could easily just comm the purple fool. Unless he was doing something _else _with Shockwave, but some things just didn't bear thinking about too closely.

Even worse, the tyrannical idiot had come back only to immediately demand attention from those he'd been neglecting. Apparently, he thought it was Starscream's fault he'd had to go a night without him. And possibly make do with that ugly, boring, purple -

He stopped abruptly in front of Megatron's throne, his dark face twisted in disgust.

Megatron, for his part, looked Starscream over and frowned. Starscream's wings twitched again. Could Megatron see? He'd ordered the Constructicons to be particularly painstaking about repairing him this morning. He'd studied the eventual result for any telltale marks or dents or areas they'd forgotten to polish. He hadn't found any, but his processor had still been a bit muzzy from everything that had happened the night before.

And of course, this was Megatron, who always seemed to know, even when no one could possibly have told him where every dent had been. And who, right this very moment, was reaching out a dark hand and running his fingers along a spot on his wing that was still a little sore, and how the hell did the slagger _know these things, _and oh, that felt _too good _right now -

"What?" he snapped, tossing his head to clear it. "Don't tell me you called me in here just to _pet_ me."

"Why, Starscream," Megatron laughed, his fingers still dancing along the Seeker's wing, "I never dreamed you would object to that."

"I - I don't - but you -" Starscream stammered. What was Megatron playing at? Had the others just not told him what Motormaster had done?

_Maybe that's it,_ Starscream thought. _Maybe he has no idea._

He didn't consider it likely, but he grinned all the same. "Why Megatron, have you finally decided to treat me as I'm worthy to be treated, instead of barking abuse and insults to cover up your own shortcomings?" He pressed his wings into Megatron's hands and licked his lips. "I never thought I'd see the day."

Megatron's hand clenched around the Seeker's wing. Starscream tensed, his cooling fans kicking on too loudly as he prepared himself for pain.

It came, though it was mild. Megatron tightened his hand just enough to send the barest shock through Starscream's systems. Still, the Seeker shuddered violently.

That he would have so strong a reaction to so little surprised him. It wasn't like he'd been alone last night.

Motormaster's temper was legendary. While the self-styled King of the Road would never have accepted straightforward advances from any Seeker, much less from Starscream, provoking him to violence was another matter entirely.

Most Decepticons had long ago learned to ignore playful insults from Starscream, even turning off their own audio receptors if they thought he wouldn't catch them doing it. Motormaster, whether because of his temper, because of some fault in his logic circuits, or because he and his team had only been built a very short time ago, had no such common sense.

Goading him had been ridiculously easy. Even standard, dull insults like "dirt-kisser" made his optics flare and his faceplates twist into a too-wide snarl. A few choice comments about how unfortunate it must be to share his vehicle mode with an Autobot were all it took to ignite that simmering rage into an explosion of blows and invective that even Starscream had found impressive.

Those blows had vibrated his every circuit, silvering through him like lightning seeking ground. He'd barely heard the stream of insults the bigger Decepticon had hurled at him. The sting in the words had mattered, but what they'd been had not. Not as he buckled and twisted and his sensor net flared with pain upon pain.

It had been crude. It had been completely inelegant, the kind of thing he'd mock Motormaster relentlessly for later, if he was ever willing to admit it had happened at all.

And the Stunticon hadn't even wanted him anyway. Not at first. Not until his core temperature had spiked purely from the exertion and the determination to do more, to crush, to destroy.

Not until Starscream had done the one thing that would bring him up short: opened his chest plates, exposed his spark, and given his assailant the kind of lascivious grin that even he couldn't fail to understand.

It had almost been enough.

The blows had almost forced him back to himself, back to a reality that narrowed to only this, only the force reverberating through him. The energy spearing him as it sped from the other's spark in a torrent of heat and light brilliant enough to sear his spark casing had almost thrilled through him almost brightly enough to make him forget.

It had felt good, shivering half into pieces, rising defiant and sneering for more. _Oh, is that all? I should have known. Do whatever you want, you ugly knockoff of an Autobot. I can take it. I can take anything._

But it hadn't felt like this, dark fingers curling around his wing, slowly - always slowly - always too slowly, and the gasping as he waited and the whir of his cooling fans, too loud, as he waited - and waited - and was finally - he gasped, knowing what was coming, and -

- the dark hand opened and withdrew.

Starscream's engine sputtered. Like his fans, its noise was too loud. He wasn't sure he cared. "What are you doing?"

Megatron's optics flared once, his hand lingering just out of reach of Starscream's wing. Then he gave Starscream a bland little smile. "I hear you've found someone else for that."

Starscream shrieked. "Someone - someone else?" He sputtered in wordless indignation. After all, he hadn't bothered with anyone else until Megatron had done it first.

Megatron's hand moved to Starscream's cockpit glass, tightening just as it had around his wing, then freezing there. Starscream could feel Megatron's fingers trembling with the effort of holding them still.

"The Constructicons tell me that you needed extensive repairs this morning," Megatron went on, as if his hands weren't shaking. "Why is that?"

Starscream sniffed. "Motormaster is an idiot with a temper and no self-control. He insulted me and the other Seekers. He said that -" He stopped. What had the Stunticon said? He couldn't remember. He hadn't been listening anyway.

Still, he could always improvise. "He said that he was _better _than we are. Can you imagine? A dirt-kissing abomination that looks and moves and _smells _just like an Autobot, thinking himself superior to _me_!" He flicked his wings for emphasis, hoping that description would convince his leader he'd never want anyone so filthy touching him.

"So I fought him," Starscream finished, taking a step closer to Megatron. Megatron was apparently not going to beat him today. There was probably some convoluted, twisted reason for that, some grandiose and foolish plan that made it make sense. And that, of course, made Starscream wary.

Still, he might as well take advantage of it. "That's all," he continued, jabbing a blue finger at Megatron's chest and grinning when he felt its heat.

"You fought him," Megatron said, fixing him with an intense stare. His wings fluttered. That kind of scrutiny was never a good sign.

"Yes." _You know I'm lying. Now lecture me for it and get on with this._

"You fought him, you tell me. And you sustained serious damage, enough that you needed repairs extensive enough for the Constructicons to remark on them."

Starscream nodded, his heels clacking restlessly against the floor. "Yes."

"Am I to understand that you lost?"

Starscream screeched, his engines roaring with indignation. "Lost? _Lost?_ I'd never lose to that dim-sparked oaf -!"

Then his optics widened. "I mean - that is - I - he - _damn it, Megatron!_" the Seeker wailed, his face close enough now to almost touch his leader's.

Megatron sat back on his throne, his fingers still moving on Starscream's cockpit glass. His touch was light, and possessive, as if he were caressing something prized but fragile, something that would fall to pieces unless he touched it as softly as he could. Starscream's cooling fans kicked on louder, even as he whimpered again in frustration.

"You - you want me to confess, is that it?" he began. What was Megatron doing? The actions didn't match the words. If the tyrant wanted a confession, why touch him gently enough that he could get away with not making it? It didn't make any sense.

But Megatron was silent. Silent and still. Starscream could feel the air coming from his vents and hear the whir of his cooling fans, but that was the only clue to what he was up to. Starscream twitched again.

"You want me to say that I provoked him?" He laughed, a sharp trill, harsh and mocking. "Oh, I don't think so, leader. Not when this is your fault! Not when you're the one who suddenly took off for Cybertron and -" He stopped.

The helmeted head tilted. "Suddenly?" His fingers slid over Starscream's glass again, his touch still whispering promises.

Starscream nodded, his optics gleaming red. "Exactly what's gotten into you? First rushing off to see Shockwave like that, and now this!"

The grip tightened. Starscream pressed his lip plates together to hold in a grin. Megatron stared, his optics flaring a bright, piercing red. Starscream stared back.

"Rushing off to see Shockwave? Shockwave is responsible for holding the planet together while we are gone. How precisely is wanting an update on the situation 'rushing off to see him?'"

"Oh, don't give me that," Starscream answered, tossing his head and pulling away ever so slightly. Megatron clenched the glass harder in response. Starscream guessed it was instinctive. That Megatron might not even realize he was doing it.

That was fine with Starscream.

"You had no reason to go to Cybertron," he crowed, the elation he felt zinging through him like high-grade. "You could just as easily have gotten some dull little _report _from your insipid purple minion through a comm link. But no, you had to go there yourself. As if some dullard we were all glad to leave behind anyway is worthy of - of -" He stopped.

Megatron's optics flared once with anger. Then he smirked. "Of what, exactly?"

Starscream's wings flicked back and forth in agitation. "Oh, I'm sure I don't_ know_ what," he said finally, thinking of dark hands tracing along thick purple plating and shuddering, the fuel in his tanks roiling as his faceplates twisted in disgust.

Megatron's fingers scraped along Starscream's cockpit glass, digging deep enough to score angry lines down it. The Seeker sighed in relief, his wings clicking a rapid cadence of need.

It wasn't enough, not now, not here, not when Megatron had spent half their meeting denying him. Not when what he really wanted was to feel himself shatter under his lord's hands, but he wasn't complaining. Vorns of serving under Megatron had taught him how to take pride in small victories.

"Shockwave's duties are extremely important," Megatron said finally, his fingertips still digging hard into Starscream's glass. "He runs a planet in my absence. Do you really think I would do nothing but comm him?"

Starscream thrashed in Megatron's grip. There was another flare of pain as he moved, but Megatron refused to take the bait. Starscream cursed him. Loudly.

"Oh, but you comm him all the time, mighty Megatron. If you insisted on going to Cybertron every time he bothered you with some foolish, nitpicky question, you'd  
>never come back here. And although I know very well you're that stupid, it hasn't happened before. So I can only assume you went there to do more than check on how badly our home planet is falling apart."<p>

He shuddered violently. "Though I can't imagine how you could stand to touch that."

Megatron smirked. His cooling fans roared as he spoke again. "Well, there is something to be said for whole-sparked loyalty."

"What?" Starscream shrieked. Had Megatron's fans sped up like that because he was taunting Starscream, or had they sped up like that because he liked what he was remembering? "You mean to tell me you actually -? And - and you _enjoyed _-?"

"Shockwave has done very well of late," Megatron answered, chuckling. "Or had you forgotten that he finally captured one of those female Autobots who have been breaking in to our energon stores?"

"What?" Starscream howled again. What did those annoying pests have to do with anything? "I - well - of course I knew that! Really, Megatron, do you think I'm totally incompetent?"

"Of course not," Megatron answered, chuckling. "I would never suggest such a thing. But since you were, of course, already aware, then surely you realize that Shockwave deserved a reward for such exemplary service."

His optics gleamed. "And surely you're not surprised to hear that I gave it to him."

Starscream's spark flared hot with rage. He felt a new spike of pain from Megatron's hand, but he'd forgotten to gloat. "But - but I'm the only one who deserves -!"

Megatron's broad frame vibrated with laughter. Starscream seethed.

"Are you, Starscream? Are you, when I can't even leave for a night without you throwing yourself at any mech big enough to damage you?"

Starscream yelped, a white-hot hiss of fury, and wrenched himself away from Megatron. Megatron made no move to stop him. Instead of wondering at it, Starscream sniffed in indignation.

Then he felt familiar fingers along the trailing edge of his wings. Soft, coaxing, as if Megatron had gotten his wires crossed and actually thought he could mollify his Second by touching him gently.

"Stop being ridiculous, Megatron," Starscream pouted, his wing trembling at the touch. "You feel it too."

The hand tightened slowly around Starscream's wing, heavy and irresistible. Starscream's spark whirled in anticipation and dread, sure that Megatron would turn him around and -

"Yes, Starscream," the voice behind him rasped, soft under the roar of the tyrant's fans. "I feel it too."

Starscream's engine stalled. "You - you do? Then why don't you -?"

The dark hand opened again. Starscream sighed in frustration as he felt the pressure ease.

"Because unlike you, Starscream, I actually have some self-control."

Starscream twisted to look over his shoulder. "So what do you want? An apology? A confession? If you think I really wanted Motormaster, you're insane."

It wasn't true, not strictly. He had wanted Motormaster. He had enjoyed the big brute, the simplicity of being torn apart and pushed from nothing into overload. It was certainly better than this, this endless guessing, these little puzzles whose solutions he was supposed to stop and find, when all he wanted was flame and destruction, searing and exalting and remaking him all at once.

Was that what Megatron had done with - with Shockwave? Had he given the big purple fool what he was denying Starscream now? Was that the point?

Or maybe he'd done _this_. Maybe he'd played these little games with a damned yes-mech who delighted in reasoning out their solutions. Maybe that was why Megatron was doing this now, was treating Starscream as if he could bother with any of this slag when he could hardly think at all because he needed -

He turned. "Megatron."

A knowing little grin answered him. "Yes, Starscream?"

The Seeker lowered himself to his knees, not bothering to keep his voice from cracking. "Hurt me. Please. This - this is driving me crazy. I -"

What could he say? That he didn't want anyone else? That wasn't true, and Megatron would know it. That it wasn't the same? Of course it wasn't, but to confess it would mean to make himself weak in front of Megatron. And he knew his leader well enough to know that that would disgust him.

Which was only right. Megatron wanted warriors, not fawning little sycophants. Even if he did, apparently, enjoy indulging one of them now and then.

Starscream reached out and took Megatron's arm. Megatron let him, and he fought not to shiver as he straightened it and stared unflinchingly at the cannon now pointed directly at his face.

"My - my lord," Starscream murmured, the pent-up energy swirling through his spark now crackling through him. He wrapped his hand around the cannon, less to seduce the other and more to steady himself, as he leaned in to lick the sensitive metal of the barrel.

Megatron's hand was at his back now, digging into his plating, and Starscream felt as if the touch lit his whole sensor net at once. He could hear the steady hum of Megatron's weapons systems, half-powered, and feel the metal under his lips heat up as they charged.

Megatron was trembling, too, almost as badly as he was, and Starscream could sense how much effort it took him to keep his weapons systems from roaring fully to life. He moaned into the inside of the barrel as he licked, its heat singeing his lips.

A dark hand wrapped around the Seeker's head, and for a wild, panicked moment he thought Megatron really was going to hold him there, pressing his face against the metal as those deadly weapons systems rocketed to full power.

Then the other twisted his head away with a vicious, decisive movement. "Enough," he rasped, letting go of Starscream's head.

The Seeker's neck cabling ached from the rough handling. Gritting his dental plates, he forced himself to look up. He'd asked for this. Now he would endure it with pride.

Megatron reached down toward Starscream's glass and grabbed it. Starscream thought for a moment of Motormaster, his rage, his complete and utter lack of finesse. His spark pulsed hard in its casing. He'd played this game well, well enough to crack even Megatron's resolve.

_How does it feel, mighty Megatron? _he sneered. _How does it feel to need this as badly as I do?_

Megatron's faceplates twisted in determined concentration as he squeezed. Starscream shivered. He'd seen that expression before. He'd never see it on Motormaster's broad face. Or anyone else's.

The Seeker keened, a high, wordless wail, as he felt his glass buckle under his lord's relentless hand.

Then he broke, howling his relief as that hand splintered him, invading everything he was, leaving no part of him untouched. His internal diagnostics blared alarms, a symphony of shock and welcome, and his spark pulsed so hard his chest plates flew apart just to keep it from searing its own housing.

Megatron stared, his optics widening. Then he laughed. Starscream had no time for indignation. He stared, transfixed by a thin line of light peeking forth from Megatron's chest. Starscream knew what that meant, knew that the other was also eager to open, to expose his own spark, overfull and spinning with craving of its own.

But Megatron only let go, shaking shards of glass out of his hand, and reached to grab both of Starscream's wings, twisting at the ailerons until they came loose and then not stopping, moving down to the body of his wings and twisting, hard and harder and then harder still, until they creaked and dented and white-hot agony flared so hard through Starscream that his vision went white and he overloaded, stunned, amazed that such a thing could happen at all.

When the white fuzz in front of his optics cleared, Megatron's hands were barely brushing the twisted wings, as if somehow in awe of what they'd done. The silver faceplates wore their customary smirk, but Starscream knew that Megatron was just as surprised as he had been. He staggered to his feet, his damaged glass and wings sending shivers of sensation through him.

He twitched his wings, half to feel more and half to show Megatron just how much he could survive. "I'll be going now, since your little game is over," he said, his smirk matching his leader's.

Then he found himself howling again, pain bursting through him as something heavy and unstoppable collided with him, driving him into the wall behind him so hard he felt it crack around him.

There was a thud and a flare of blinding light. He tossed his head, frightened, disoriented, not knowing what was happening, until he finally recognized the light as his leader's spark, exposed, lightning crackling all around it as it sought, blindly, to reach him.

"Did you think I was finished with you, Starscream?" he rasped, air cycling heavily through his vents.

Then the bolt of energy tore free from his spark, so fast it had to hurt, had to be searing him too, uprooting all the energy stored in his systems and flooding the spark in front of him.

Starscream thrashed, hissing and wailing. He'd already overloaded, and this flood was too much, too much, even for him, a bolt of lightning and flame cleaving him in two. It was pleasure and pain and dissolution, a scouring light blazing through every part of him, and he could do nothing but receive it, pinned and frozen as much by its force as by the broad frame pressing him into the wall.

Then, _more_, sending his limbs dancing, a jangling mass of metal completely out of his control as the energy roaring free of his lord inundated him, flooding every part of him just as those shattering hands had broken all of him before.

He would not have called what happened next an overload. He would not have called it anything at all. He heard the roar of Megatron's pleasure and felt it, too, a lance of fire through the bond between their sparks. He shuddered with it, blinded by it, screeching in despair and welcome, and his world went white again.

###

When his vision cleared, he felt something, darts of bright electricity through his wings. He murmured, pleased. Was he... hurt? He must be, must have been, and this must be the aftermath, the kind of lazy satiation that made anything thrill through his sensor net.

A face smirked down at him, its red optics bright.

"_Now_ you may leave," it said.


End file.
